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When the words reach us, Benny grips my arm so hard I can feel each one of his fingertips.
I close my eyes, listening carefully. “Ricky’s gonna give himself a hard time for forgetting to get Hendrick’s for Aaron. Miso is going to lick Zachary’s toes, and he’ll laugh hysterically. Lisa is going to put on a Bob Dylan Christmas album that is legitimately terrible, and Theo is going to have a sip of beer go down the wrong pipe and will start coughing for, like, ten minutes straight.” I look at Benny and nod, resolute. “Just wait.”
We turn our quiet attention back to the living room, out of sight but within earshot.
“I don’t know what I’m going to think if you’re right,” Benny whispers.
“Yeah. Same.”
• • •
Twenty minutes later, we’re back in the attic and Benny is pacing the length of the floor, back and forth. His bracelets jingle with every step. I’m on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’s freaking out because everything I said would happen happened. Finally, he stops near me and lets out a reverently whispered “Whoa. I’m not even high right now.”
I know I should feel vindicated, but given that it’s no surprise to me that I was right, I have to wonder: Is this my life now? Am I doomed to live this day over and over? Should I try to leave the attic again, or will I fall down the stairs?
And the biggest question of all: Does it even matter what I do, or is time—for me—just . . . broken?
Well, worst-case scenario, I guess, is I relive this day over and over and keep flirting with Andrew on the porch.
I push up onto an elbow. “Okay. So: What do I do?”
“I think you should talk to your dad,” Benny says with firm resolve.
“Nope.” I roll onto my back again. “You said that last time. I Peter Pan’d it down the stairs and woke up on the plane.”
“Ouch,” he whispers, rubbing his neck guiltily. “I’m sorry, Noodle.”
His tone makes my heart ache, and I sit up, pulling him to sit next to me so I can smooch his cheek. “Wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe just . . .” He holds his hands up, unsure. “Just try to make it through tonight? Maybe tomorrow it will become clear what you’re supposed to do. Maybe it’s about Theo. Maybe it’s about the cabin. I bet you’ll figure it out. My motto is ‘Go with the flow,’ so I think that’s what you need to do here.” He pats my knee. “She’ll be right, mate.”
Go with the flow. Of course that’s Benny’s motto.
It’s not like there’s a guidebook to time jumping, or some obvious portal in the attic wall—at least in Narnia they knew to get back to the wardrobe. So I guess our only clear option is to go downstairs and rejoin the festivities—go with the flow it is.
I stand up and Benny takes my arm protectively. “Besides all that,” he says, “everything else okay? Work? Social life? Romance updates?”
I pause with my hand on the door. “Work?” A fist of dread squeezes my lungs. “Meh. Social life is fine. Mira— remember my college roommate? She moved back to Berkeley, so it’s basically just the two of us scrolling Yelp for new restaurants where we can go eat our feelings.”
Benny laughs, and then goes silent, waiting for me to answer the last looming question. Finally, he prompts: “And?”
“What is romance again?” I ask rhetorically. “I’ve had three dates in a year. On two of them it was immediately obvious we were not a good fit, and I used the very old and very tired ‘My friend has an emergency and needs me’ excuse.”
“Oof.”
“The third guy was good-looking, gainfully employed, easy to talk to—”
“Nice.”
“—but on date two admitted that although he and his wife still live together, he swears they’re separated and totally plans to move out soon.”
Benny groans. “No.”
“Eh, there’s not much game to be had when you’re still living with your mommy.” I wave my hand, saying, “So yeah. Romance is on hold.”
He kisses my temple. “Life ain’t easy.”
“You can say that again.” I grin over my shoulder at him as I turn. “I mean, you probably will say that again, you just won’t know it.”
Benny laughs, insisting on walking ahead of me down the stairs, and I take them as slowly and painstakingly as I can. When I make it to the bottom, he gives me a genuine high five—which I gladly take. We are now celebrating the small victories.
chapter nine
My eyes open to the dark, and the view of blank nothingness is so familiar it sends a spike of relief through me. I know exactly where I am: bottom bunk, basement room, the cabin. What I don’t know is when.
When I fumble for my phone, I don’t honestly know what I’m hoping for—whether I want to go back to the present or stay here in the past. It’s moot anyway: one look at my home screen and I see it’s December 21. I made it to the next morning, but who knows if I’ll make it through the rest of the day? Still, I give myself a mental high five. Remember? Small victories.
